Poveglia
by Solaris Moon
Summary: A trilogy exploring the island the Italian government has purposed and repurposed before roping it off, and three differing reactions
1. Made of Plague and Emotions Shared

"I hope those brothers are in good health…"

"I think they have family in the south, the elder speaks often of the country air and neighbors there. Perhaps they have retreated to the south."

"I certainly hope so. Come, let's be off."

"Feliciano, get away from that window." Lovino was in pain, a dull ache from the dying in his home, sores small and graying as he hobbled from his seat near the bed towards the window his brother sat in, crying silent tears of pain that shuddered throughout his body, the swollen glands on his body, the fever that left him glistening with sweat even with the chill breeze scented by the smoke of Poveglia blowing in from the coast of Venice. He'd come to help care for his sibling when he'd first heard of the outbreaks, recalling how bad a previous bout had been, but how was he to nurse Feliciano back to health, when the fool wouldn't stay in bed for more than thirty minutes? It hurt to move for him, he knew it had to hurt worse for Feliciano, so why did he persist in moving back to the window? "You'll get sicker."

"They're killing people there, Lovino." It was the quietest he'd ever heard his brother be, and Lovino sat on the sill with the smaller man, wondering how much of the tears were from pain and how much were from something else. "That island. There are people there that aren't even dying yet, and shouldn't be dying yet, but they're dying." Feliciano's body shook and for a moment Lovino was afraid it was another seizure, before he heard the sob muffled into the man's knees. "They're suffering hell, brother."

"…Just bear with it, Feliciano, you'll survive this, you survived the last one." Lovino wasn't entirely sure his brother would be able to survive, the pain rendered him unable to eat more than a few bites every so often, even of his beloved pasta, unable to sleep for more than uncomfortable minutes at a time. He was thin, unhealthily so, and his skin that wasn't covered in black sores was pale as moonlight. It was terrifying, to have this uncertainty, but he wouldn't voice it, for fear of cursing his sibling. If Feliciano knew this fact or took comfort in the unsure assurances, he never registered it aloud, continuing his quiet sobs.

"I saw them dragging the Signora that sells fabric at the market out yesterday. Her and her children. Even the baby. They just christened the baby last week, and now… they said Poveglia, they were going to Poveglia, and no one ever comes back from there." Feliciano was obviously distraught over this, and Lovino couldn't blame him in the least. He'd heard about Poveglia, and that was the place that had been hurting Feliciano the most lately, he worried about them coming to investigate them too, and taking them away. They couldn't die, not as easily as a human could, what would happen to them? Would Feliciano go insane, among the dead of his citizens and bodies of children emaciated but otherwise uninfected, the rotting corpses that spread their stench across the water before and during burning, and stuck in one's nose even after. Feliciano wasn't as strong as others, never had been. Lovino shuddered at the thought of the people living, buried alive under bodies diseased and decaying. To subject Feliciano to that would break him.

Heedless of his own pain and suffering, Lovino picked his sibling up and carried him back over to the bed, laying him down, tucking a thin blanket over him, smoothing his bangs away from his face while minding that one odd curl. "I won't let them take you to Poveglia. I promise, little brother." Feliciano wouldn't let go of his hand, tears rolling down his face from the effort it took to hold on, and Lovino sat on the edge of the mattress, gingerly holding the younger Italian's hand. "I promise, Feliciano. They won't take you there as long as I live."

"Thank you, big brother…" he smiled faintly, letting his eyes close to fall into one of his fitful naps. Even though he could have let go (there was food to prepare, cleaning to do, something to keep up the semblance of a working Venitian household and help keep his promise), Lovino remained at his spot, keeping a close watch on Feliciano, making sure he kept breathing, kept sleeping, and kept the nightmarish visions of the plague pits at bay.


	2. A State of Unrest and Disquiet

It had been a month since anyone had seen Feliciano. It was the late 60's, a time of change and renewal (in some odd sense), and after Alfred had come into a meeting in holey jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt, people had stopped putting things beyond each other. They were starting to think that perhaps the Italian was trying something new and taking lessons from Matthew on how to be invisible. Others, like Ludwig and Kiku, started paying more attention to the older brother. Lovino had started coming in late, battered and bruised more than the usual, ruffled, making excuses for his sibling's absences. He found reasons to leave at lunch, to come back late, or to get out of meetings entirely. It was almost as if he had a new puppy he needed to house-train, if not for the fact that they knew from when Feliciano was around that Lovino refused to get a dog, for the fact that it would dig up his plants and be a risk to get attached to.

"Animals don't seem to like him much, either," Feliciano had noted. So it wasn't an animal, definitely. And Ludwig was starting to worry. He hadn't spoken much to Feliciano, not after 1944, his defection to the Allies after his boss had been massacred and Ludwig's own had started getting crazier day by day. He'd been bitter than his so-called friend had abandoned him in his time of hardship, after he'd been there for him. But lately, they'd been speaking a little, trying to get past the pain of the past. At least, he thought they had been. Now with Feliciano missing for a while, Ludwig and Kiku were trying to figure out why their friend was gone. Kiku had pitched the suggestion that perhaps Lovino was holding his sibling hostage, since he hadn't approved of them in the 1940s and probably still had hard feelings about the entire mess. Naturally, the suggestion had been a bit more far-out and violent in undertone than Ludwig was willing to believe of Lovino; he was all bluff when it got down to it. The German was a little more nervous, though he didn't say it. Perhaps Feliciano was playing some kind of game or something, baiting him and then leaving him alone again.

He didn't think that was something the Italian would do, but he kept his concerns to himself and resolved to go visit the first weekend he could get out of work. He hadn't gone to the other's home in a while.

"What the hell do you want, potato bastard?" Lovino was stunned; what was Ludwig doing on his brother's front step? The German didn't even have the decency to look contrite, regarding the past and his idiocy, or his imposing upon really-Feliciano's-but-temporarily-Lovino's home. The southern Italian could feel his blood beginning to boil.

"Is Feliciano in? I'd like to speak to him." It was unusual, to hear that normally-coarse voice softened, possibly worried, but definitely trying to keep his presence a secret. It was as if he expected Feliciano to turn him away, and he wanted to escape with his pride intact. Like if he kept his voice down, he could leave if rebuffed and no one would even know. Lovino leaned against the door with a sigh.

"He's in, but he's not available, and I'm about to head to market. So I'll tell him you came by, now get off his doorstep." Lovino watched as Ludwig shuffled off, around the fence that divided their home from the rest of the street, and headed out himself. Feliciano would be okay for the hour it would take him to get food for dinner.

Ludwig would be nothing if not crafty, though, and he recalled a hole in the fence that the younger Italian had once used to sneak back in after a night out on the town, flirting with girls and dancing and singing. And if he knew Feliciano, he hadn't changed where he slept either, still in that second-story room with the little wrought iron balcony that had had to be replaced not long before they got good and started in the war, just big enough to sit in if you could get past the few flowerpots he left stacked there.

Or, well, once had. The flowerpots had moved, who knew where, and the window looked rather bare without the miniature roses, the daisies, and that single solitary lily he had kept for who knew how long. The window was open, at least, and he could see that as being Feliciano's doing. "Luddy!" a cheery voice called out from the room, and Feliciano's face appeared in the corner of the window. "_Ciao!_"

_ "Guten morgen._ What are you doing in there, where have you been?" Ludwig had thought that he'd be more relieved seeing his friend, but like this… something was dead wrong, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He wasn't getting that comforted 'thank heavens he's all right' feeling from this, it was something more ominous. "Everyone's been worried."

"I'm all right, Lovino's just been worried about me. Said I needed to stay in here. Locked me up. So could you help me out, please? Lovino's not letting me out." A pout formed on Feliciano's face. "I think it's something to do with being your friend and really, I'm old enough to choose for myself. Please?"

Lovino hated having to turn around and go home to get his wallet. He didn't think he'd have forgotten the damn thing had he not been so preoccupied with Feliciano and chasing that damn potato bastard off the lawn, but the fact of the matter was he'd forgotten his wallet and now had to go back to… wait, why did he hear conversation?

The Italian broke into a dead run into the back garden, shouting as he rounded the corner, heedless of how it looked, who he was shouting at. "DON'T FUCKING DO IT, YOU'LL END UP DEAD! HE'S NOT STABLE!" Ludwig paused in his endeavor to figure out how to climb a wall without a trellis or anything to really grip, staring at Lovino as if he were the one who was stark raving bonkers. A 'tsk'ing sound reverberated across the area, nothing the passerby could hear but something that carried across the small yard like cannon fire.

"Aw, but I wanted to see what Ludwig's samples would have been like. We could keep him as a pet, brother."

"I want nothing to do with your damn German pets. Sit your ass back down, I'm coming back in, and if you don't want me to drug your food again you'll sit still and let me give you your medicine without giving me trouble." Lovino didn't sound like he was taking any shit, so when he gestured toward the front, Ludwig headed that way, sitting on the front step and pretending he didn't hear the muffled yells from the back of the house. The elder of the Italian brothers re-emerged from the townhouse minutes later, wallet grasped in his hand and a sour look on his face. Unbidden, the blond began to follow, wanting an explanation for this madness that he wasn't entirely certain he'd receive. Lovino's route took the two a little way away from the market, a looping, long way that allowed a view of an island with a large building, quiet looking.

"It's Poveglia again. That island has been nothing but trouble for him since day one. This time, it was a doctor." Lovino said, staring across the peaceful waters at the island in irritation. Then again, Ludwig mused, he had a right to. It was his little brother who was being disturbed, after all. "Crazy son of a bitch, they say he performed some cruel lobotomies. He went mad, I think. Threw himself from a window. But he never hit the ground."

"What? That's impossible, he had to have."

"Not if the ghosts of people he'd fucked with had anything to do with it. They say there was a white mist that caught him, choked him to death. You know what the death of a stark raving lunatic can do to a country. Especially when there's no reasonable explanation for it." Lovino resumed his walk, faster paced and obviously furious. "They're trying to get everyone off that island, it never should have been messed with in the first place, but until things settle down, I'm keeping him out of the meetings and away from everyone. If you'd gone up there, he'd probably had hurt you. And while I'd normally be all over that," Lovino sighed as they approached the open-air market, "you're someone Feliciano cares for and if he found out you had been hurt, it'd do more damage to him than I think anything could solve. So there. Be happy I care enough about my brother to let you live."

Ludwig said nothing; what was there to say about something like that? The elder Italian turned to walk away, pausing just long enough to offer one more bit of advice to the blond. "Go home, and don't think about my brother for a while. He'll be back when he's back, he's doing much better than he was at the start of this entire mess. Just let him heal and let it go." And just like that, Lovino left. Ludwig spared a parting glance at the island that was troubling his friend so greatly, and with a sigh, started on his way back home. There was nothing he could do about any of this, really. Best to just go home.

"Ve~, hello everyone!" There was a massive dogpile of people on and around Feliciano as he entered the meeting room, all smiles and sunshine and happiness, as if nothing had ever been wrong in the least. Ludwig hung back, waiting for the man to make his way over for hugs and kisses. Japan was the first to break the quiet held by the German and himself.

"Feliciano-san, where have you been? Everyone has been worried about you."

"Huh? Oh~, that. Big brother told me when I laid down for siesta I must have been reaaaaally tired, because I kept going back to sleep. I don't even remember getting up to go to the bathroom or eat or anything!" Japan looked at Germany, who shook his head. If Italy didn't remember the month of madness, it was probably for the best. Germany, uncharacteristically, hugged the smaller Italian back when he felt arms around his waist, and if he hugged him just a little tighter, well, that was to be expected. "Eeeh? Luddy, you're acting strange. It was just a really long siesta, I'm all right."

"Y-yes. Right." Ludwig brushed off his shame and turned towards the table. "We'd best be seated, the meeting is about to start."

Lovino cut the German a look behind his back, a small one of thankfulness, though it passed as quickly as it had come. Appearances had to be kept, and besides, he wasn't looking. And as Feliciano bounded back towards him, sliding into the chair by his brother, he knew things would never be quite like they were before (Feliciano had lost a month and people would probably question that, after all), he was just happy to have his little brother back.


	3. An Island to Avoid

"Hey, Italy!" The small Italian looked away from his paper to see a blond-haired, blue eyed man waving over his garden wall. The paper set aside (just more scandal, he'd have to send Romano to talk to that guy about this crap), Italy sat up on his lounge chair and waved, America entering the small terrace with a jaunty grin that just screamed 'I have an idea'. It beat reading the paper all day. "I've got a favor to ask."

"Ve? What is it, America?" Italy asked, bouncing a little as America sat down on the foot of his lounge chair- he hoped that didn't break it.

"Well, I heard about this island off your coast, it's supposed to be haunted…" Italy reached for his glass of soda, curious as to what America wanted with Poveglia before the blond continued. "And I wondered if you'd want to go with me to investigate this place!"

The glass shattered on the terra-cotta tiles, strawberry cream soda spilling into the clay and staining it darker. Italy just stared at America as if he were insane, America just smiled as if he didn't understand why Italy was looking at him strangely, and finally the Italian managed to get enough air to ask a question.

"…Are you talking about Poveglia?"

"Yeah, that's the place! I knew it started with a P!" Italy grabbed the happy blond's shoulders and stared at him, completely serious.

"Stay off of Poveglia, America. I mean it, stay off there. That place is cursed."

"Uhm, yeah, I know. I wanna see it for myself though! And if you went with me, then maybe I wouldn't be so scared!" America laughed. Italy flopped back against his chair, looking distressed. "What's wrong?"

"I'll make pasta if you don't ever even think about going to Poveglia again."

"Huh?"

"I don't want to go to Poveglia ever again. There's too much death there… I don't even want to think of Poveglia."

"Wasn't it just a plague colony?"

"You don't understand, America, you never had to deal with the plague. Romano and I suffered through the plague _three times._ Do you know what that does to someone?"

"Uhm… makes them hate doctors?"

"…that too. People were burned alive on Poveglia. _Alive_. That's how bad it was on crowding. That's how bad the final plague was. And then it was a bunch of retirement homes and people died there and it… it's not a good place, America. You'd be better off not going and just staying for dinner."

"Well, I'd be happy to stay for dinner, but you don't put any meatballs in your spaghetti, so if it's all the same, I'd like to go to Poveglia." America just would not be deterred. Italy put aside his irritation about the implied insult to his food, and set about trying to convince America that going to Poveglia was a horrible, terrible idea. He mentioned the insane doctor, the mists, the screams and even how his government prohibited entry for tourists and locals, but America would not be deterred. Finally, Italy just threw his hands up.

"If you're so stubborn… don't come bearing a curse to my door." Italy sighed.

"You mean?"

"Yeah, I'll get you a permit if you go get me a broom and dustpan."

Italy was awoken by pounding at his door late that night, a frantic sound. He opened the door sleepily, and was immediately bowled over by something rather heavy practically screaming his name in fright.

"…told you not to go, America." He yawned, petting the man's head. "You heard something, I guess."

"Heard, saw, felt, I'm not going back!" America declared, latched onto Italy like a leech. The brunet thanked God that his brother wasn't there that night, that Spain had pretty much kidnapped him for the weekend for a vacation. With a little difficulty, he pulled himself and America to their feet, and tugged him toward the kitchen for a glass of amaretto. America didn't want to talk about his experience, and Italy didn't push- he knew just how rough Poveglia was. Even after the liqueur, America still refused to let Italy go more than five feet away from him. The only solution, it seemed, was to let him sleep by him.

"How can you not be scared of it? You know what goes on there…" America asked as he got settled into the foreign bed. Italy sighed as he scooted over to his usual spot.

"Because I know what goes on there. Besides…" he smiled over at America. "I think you're scared enough for the both of us, and someone has to be brave." Blue eyes widened, and that terrified face finally smoothed, and broke into a small grin.

"Yeah. Guess so. Thanks, Italy." America yawned, and scooted over close enough to latch onto the Italian. Italy just grinned, latched onto America, and fell asleep again. They'd deal with the residual effects of Poveglia in the morning, he knew America was afraid of ghosts, but for now, it was time for sleep.

* * *

Ending notes: I waited to put them here so I wouldn't interrupt the flow. In order of writing, this story was first, then came the first and then the second. I partly blame a Travel Channel special of Ghost Adventures where Adam and crew go to Poveglia. The whole thing made me want to research it, so all this is a product of Wikipedia and Google. Basically, I hope this is right, but if it's not, please feel free to tell me. Or chalk it up to artistic license. I enjoyed writing these, and I hope you enjoyed reading them.


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